Material Wealth
by Les-Gateaux
Summary: Atobe has nowhere else to go, so Fuji takes him in.


Disclaimer: I would rather own Joshua Bell than PoT. Gasp.

I swear people were less stingy with reviews back in the good old days of RoYale (less than three, even if she _has_ disappeared again), SaN (well…S'anonymous), kikumaru beam (yay!), and other wonderful reviewers/writers whose names would take too much effort to type. (/bitching)

Anyways, I promised humor. You don't get it, because I had a writer's block halfway through. (There _is_ a plot already though – I'll give you that much.) This is testing out a random writing style I found on a certain forum I will not mention.

**Material Wealth**

When someone hears his name, they associate it with 'rich' – beautiful, wealthy, otherworldly Atobe, with a cottage the size of a mansion and golden statues in his rooms. His friends have nothing to say to him, except to ask for money, and he gives it freely, because he would not have friends otherwise. Oshitari is different, he thinks, and spends his time with the tensai. Then Yuushi, precious Yuushi, asks for Atobe to pay for his college tuition; Atobe laughs at him, and signs the check, and cries in his room, because no one is left.

He talks to his reflection, and gains a reputation of narcissism, but he needs to talk to _something_, and he's the only one who will listen to what he has to say. Perhaps Jirou did, at one point, but Jirou is dead, and Jirou is no longer something Atobe mentions, even to himself.

He considers moving, and his parents don't much care, so he transfers colleges and ends up in Tokyo. He does not know anyone there; he rents a small apartment, but the landlady sees his name, puts two and two together, and he moves out of Tokyo.

Gakuto calls to say that he's having trouble with student loans, and would Atobe please send him a few spare thousand yen. Atobe says no; the word is unfamiliar to his lips, and so is pressing the 'end' button – everyone else hangs up on him, usually. He scrolls down his list, and blocks the numbers of everyone on it, and buys the first plane tickets to America.

America, he thinks, is the land of opportunities. Then he laughs, because he sacrificed all his opportunities the first time he gave money to Shishido to buy those tennis shoes he wanted so much.

* * *

He has a flawless resume, and Princeton says they would be happy to have him, would he mind sharing a room? He agrees, so they take him to the dorms. It's another Japanese student, they say, a literature major, and they hope the two of them will get along.

Atobe organizes his half of the room, and spends some time reading his English dictionary. Then the door opens; he turns, because a soft voice is saying it's nice to meet you, I heard you were my new roommate, and he stares into opened blue eyes which are focused on his own.

Fuji, he mutters, not bothering with an honorific – this is America, after all. Fuji laughs, sliding into a chair. You must call me Syusuke, you know, it's more normal. Then he adds the name Keigo to the end of his sentence, and smiles again. I thought you were in Japan…?

I moved, he replies, and frowns at the realization that he is being painfully obvious, and painfully uncomfortable. He does not want Fu – Syusuke as a roommate, because to do so would be bringing back Japan, and he is trying to escape. He wonders, vaguely, whether he can switch rooms, but Syusuke is happy to see him, and, in a way, he is happy to see Syusuke.

The old hope revives, and he smiles shakily. Syusuke grins, grabs his hand, and pulls. Let's go out for ice cream – my treat, and we can get reacquainted, the tensai says, and Atobe finds himself following.

* * *

Everyone calls him Keigo, and he is at first offended, then apathetic, then approving. He joins clubs – not just tennis, but also writing, and newspaper, because Syusuke is editor-in-chief and will not let him skip. It'll help when you get a job, the blue-eyed boy chirps brightly, and shoves a stack of papers in his arms.

You just don't want to do the work, he retorts, and Syusuke chases him off, threatening to make him write every copy of the newspaper by hand. His English is flawless, and he begins to forget Japanese; he shuts down that part of his mind, since the only letters he gets are from his parents, and they only ask whether he is coming back anytime soon. Never, he writes, and the letters stop coming.

He picks up English lit as a second major, because Syusuke tells him that having only one major is pathetic, and because he likes being with Syusuke as much as possible. He has other friends, too; they treat each other to meals, and exchange simple gifts at Christmas, and talk to each other. They listen to him, they advise him; he does the same to them.

He's happy here – he realizes it gradually, and then thinks of it as a given. He takes a large group out for lunch over winter break; they joke, make fun of their professors, tease each other, flirt with the waitresses. He has an insane amount of fun, and is still laughing when they reach the dorms. Then stops, because there's an envelope for him in the mailbox.

Read it, he tells Syusuke, because I don't like Japanese anymore.

Syusuke thinks he's joking, but takes it anyways – flicks open the top and pulls out the letter. Oh, it's from Oshitari-san, he says, and doesn't see Keigo sit down heavily on his bed. He hopes you're well, and wants to know why you didn't tell him why you moved. He also says here's the loan he took, with ten percent interest, and that he hopes it's not late, because his part time job is already irritating as hell. Syusuke laughs, pulling out a check. He hasn't changed much, has he…Keigo?

He cries, and Syusuke holds him – wraps his arm around the thin form, waits until the shaking stops and the slender hands are no longer clutching his shirt. Keigo? he asks, softly, and they sit in silence, watching the sun set. It's rising right now, in Japan, he whispers.

Then Keigo talks, and Syusuke listens.

* * *

Wheee. All done. I will finish something humor within the next week. Really. Unless, well, I don't.

Reviews make me happy. And you all want me happy, right? Or I'll kill all the characters off again. Really, I will. Grr.


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